


take it off (give it back)

by surgicalstainless



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, M/M, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Sharing Clothes, Team as Family, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 22:05:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5602699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surgicalstainless/pseuds/surgicalstainless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Bucky wears Steve's clothes.</p><p>In which Steve and Bucky are both <em>huge</em> trolls, and there is swearing and togetherness and everything turns out okay. </p><p>Except the clothes. It's usually bad for the clothes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	take it off (give it back)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [itsmylifekay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmylifekay/gifts).



> ...for the [Stucky Secret Santa exchange](http://stuckysecretsanta.tumblr.com) on tumblr. Hope you like it!
> 
>  _*canon? what canon?*_  
>  Takes place in a happy little 'verse where _AoU_ was good, nobody died, and everyone can all get along :)

Ah, good old routine. There was Sam, enjoying the crisp Fall morning as he jogged steadily along the Mall. And there went Steve, sprinting past Sam (again) with that deadpan "on your left" that he _knew_ drove Sam right up the wall and around the corner. Sam was pretty sure he piled on an extra burst of speed as he did so, just for a little added "fuck you." Steve was the _worst_ running partner.

Still, after the Incident with the helicarriers, and then the months-long campaign to blow up HYDRA's heads before they could grow back, and then that time Stark made a killer AI that tried to punch Earth to death with an Eastern European city, and the ever-disappointing Search for Bucky Barnes... Shit, their life was strange. The point was, sometimes it was nice to get back to the normal, boring stuff. Like being beaten at jogging by a weirdly competitive Captain America.

Sam wiped sweat out of his eyes and took a moment to savor the peace and quiet. The _whoosh_ of his breath and the soft _pat, pat_ of his footfalls made a comforting cadence; besides that, there was nothing to hear but birdsong.

Well, birdsong and a kind of _rattle-clank_ as some homeless guy went through the trash, looking for cans.

...And the inevitable _pat-pat-pat-pat_ "On your left" as Rogers blew by again.

_patpatpatpatpatpatpatpat_

What the —?

Homeless guy, unburdened of cans, passed Sam and then Steve like they were standing still. And if that wasn't weird enough — as he overtook Steve at a dead sprint, he reached out, snagged Steve's ballcap, and settled it on his own unkempt head.

Steve stuttered to a dumbfounded halt. "What the _shit_."

Sam pulled up beside him. "Language!"

"Natasha's never going to let me live that down, is she," Steve muttered, but his attention was on the unwashed figure rapidly diminishing in the distance.

"Nope," Sam told him cheerfully. "You think that was —"

"It was my vintage Brooklyn Dodgers hat," Steve said, not quite the non sequitur it seemed.

"Ooh," Sam winced.

"Asshole better bring it back." The sentence gradually increased in volume, until Steve's last words rang out at full battlefield roar, and _bring it back_ echoed briefly off the quiescent monuments.

Silence descended once again.

Steve nodded once, decisively. "That's what I thought," he said, and resumed his run.

—★—

Bruce wandered out into the Avengers' common area in search of coffee. It was early yet, so he hadn't expected to run into any of his teammates, but the big coffeemaker was almost always running. Scratching idly along his ribs, Bruce rounded the corner —

There were Clint and Natasha, both fully dressed, both sitting quietly.

Actually, Natasha was sitting quietly at the table with a cup of something steaming in front of her. Clint was lounging on top of the fridge for some reason (Bruce had long since decided it was better not to ask), fiddling with an arrow. Both of them, however, were positioned facing the hallway to the residential suites, and both looked oddly intent.

"Wha?" said Bruce.

Natasha spared one cool glance in his direction. "The Captain brought a friend home last night," she told him.

"And you're waiting around for —?"

"Scruffy guy," Clint interjected, "smelled bad, had Cap's same taste in hats."

This needed coffee. Bruce groped for his "May The Mass Times Acceleration Be With You" mug.

"They're debriefing now," continued Natasha.

There was a sort of awkward pause, while Bruce doctored his coffee, Clint fiddled with some kind of glue arrowhead, and Natasha continued to stare terrifyingly at nothing in particular.

"Nice pants," Clint offered, after a while.

Bruce looked down. He was wearing his fleece pajama pants with the little Iron Man masks all over them. "They were a gift."

"Uh huh," said Clint, and Bruce thought he saw Natasha's mouth twitch into a smile.

Fortunately, Steve's door opened just then. All three of them straightened, on alert.

The man that followed Steve into the common area looked almost preternaturally wary. He had a familiar face hiding behind long strands of just-washed hair, and he moved with the kind of grace that suggested he knew how to handle himself. Steve stayed close by, one hand hovering over the small of his back.

"Guys, this is —" Steve cut himself off at the sound of Clint snorting.

"Debrief go okay?" Clint asked, barely suppressing his grin.

Steve frowned. It might have been a "Captain America Is Disappointed In You" look, but it seemed... _off_ somehow. Beside him, the newcomer shifted uncomfortably. He had a lot of bruises on his neck, Bruce noticed.

Clint shoved himself off the fridge and landed on the floor with a _thud_ that made everybody twitch. He nodded at the Winter Soldier, now clad in a hooded sweatshirt and snug-fitting jeans.

" _Steve_ was wearing those jeans when you guys got here," he said, and strolled past them down the hall.

Bruce choked on his coffee a little. 

Natasha sat back and stared, considering.

Steve's ears slowly turned pink.

Bucky's mouth curled into the kind of smile that suggested he had been very well debriefed indeed.

—★—

Bucky stepped out of the bathroom in a massive cloud of sandalwood-scented steam. There was an awful lot to like about the future, starting with the fact that Steve was here and HYDRA wasn't, any more. Endless hot water and big fluffy bath sheets were right up there, though. Maybe even top ten. He had spent the last few months taking ridiculously long showers whenever an excuse offered. JARVIS was amusing himself by ordering every bath product on the planet, it seemed like.

Bucky padded across the bedroom, enjoying both the plush carpet beneath his bare feet and the lush view before him.

Steve Rogers, curled into an oversized chair, sketching.

His forehead was furrowed in concentration, and even white teeth worried unconsciously at his bottom lip. Morning sunlight streamed in and turned his hair to gold, washed his skin with a healthy glow that Bucky would never tire of seeing on Steve.

Oh yeah, there was a pretty good view of New York City, too.

 _Focus_ , Barnes.

Bucky turned his attention to the chest of drawers to snag some clothes suited to a lazy day in. Only — he frowned. When was the last time he'd done laundry?

"Hey Steve?"

"...Yeah?" Steve said absently, still engrossed in his art.

"Can I borrow one of your shirts?"

"Don't be funny, Buck, you'll stretch it all out," came the automatic reply.

Bucky paused with one hand still in the drawer. _Huh_.

The pause stretched long enough that Steve eventually looked up, his attention drawn by absence. "What?"

Bucky waited until he had eye contact, then raked his gaze very deliberately over Steve's muscular frame, up and down. Next he transferred his gaze to his own body — his arms heavy with muscle and machinery respectively, still beaded with moisture; his torso, scarred and solid; his strong thighs, covered now by the loosely wrapped towel that hung from his hips.

The towel chose that moment to come _un_ wrapped. Oops.

Steve swallowed, audibly.

Bucky flicked his glance back that way. Steve was the bigger guy these days, even if he forgot sometimes. "I think the shirt'll be fine," he deadpanned, and went to pull it over his head.

"Uh," Steve said, standing abruptly. Sketchbook and pencils tumbled to the floor, artwork forgotten. "Let me help you with that."

The shirt was _not_ fine, but that really wasn't Bucky's fault.

—★—

Captain America was a morning person. Anyone could tell you that. Captain America obviously leaped out of bed every day full of sunshine and patriotism, ready and eager to punch evil right in the jaw.

The first time somebody said that to Bucky, he laughed so hard he cried. That made _Steve_ cry, of course, because Bucky hasn't been back so long that he'd take something like that for granted, but that's not the point.

"Steve?" Bucky had gasped, wiping his eyes. "Steve _Rogers_? Are you _sure_?"

The Steve Bucky knew before the war had to be bodily hauled out of bed, some days, and not even that worked if it was winter and he'd come down with a cough. But that was then; things were different, now. People just _expected_ him to be an early riser.

Steve pretty quickly figured out that no one likes a guy who's disgustingly cheery at ass o'clock in the morning, though, so he got his revenge.

Eventually it became almost habit, enough that he almost didn't mind going for his morning jog with Sam, only to come home to find Bucky still hibernating under an enormous mound of fluffy duvet. It was comforting — a mess of dark hair, a glint of metal, a slurred "go'way." A hurled pillow that burst on impact, scattering eiderdown _everywhere_.

Yeah, being a morning person had its perks.

Today, though. Last night he'd flown in from the freezing wastelands of Mongolia, and even supersoldiers are not immune to jet-lag. Today, Steve was sleeping in.

_Crash!_

"Motherfucking goddamn sons of a..."

Steve jerked bolt upright to the sounds of the kitchen collapsing, followed immediately by the sounds of Bucky Barnes using all the words the Army'd taught him.

The cursing meant that everything was mostly okay, Steve knew. Bucky was silent when he fought, and worse than silent when he was in pain. Still, he was awake now, so thought he might as well see if he could help with the wreckage.

"Buck?" he asked, emerging into their kitchen area.

"Don't!" Bucky barked. "There's glass!"

Steve glanced down at his own bare toes. He'd walked over worse, but there wasn't any emergency. Bucky had it all under control.

Bucky, Steve saw once he looked up again, was standing in a small disaster zone. Splashed milk and shards of glass lay everywhere, and there was a cast-iron skillet on the floor, for some reason. Bucky stood over it all with a rag in one hand and a broom in the other. He was wearing nothing but boxers — and a distinctive pair of red combat boots.

Steve gave himself a long moment to take all that in, then leaned casually against the wall. "You're up early," he remarked.

Bucky gave a wry smile. "I was gonna make pancakes. Milk bottle was slippery, so I grabbed it too hard on reflex. _Bam_." He mimed a milksplosion, rag and broom flapping. Glass crunched underfoot.

Steve crossed his arms over his chest, so casual. "You usually cook in your underwear? Could be dangerous, you know." He waggled his eyebrows. "Burns."

"Yeah, um." Bucky looked over his lack of attire and shrugged.

"And are those my...?" Steve indicated delicately toward the boots.

"They were the first shoes I found!" Bucky exclaimed, but it was too late.

Steve let his head fall back against the wall and smiled at the ceiling. "It's okay, Buck. Everybody wants to dress up as Captain America. Totally normal. I don't blame you at all. Any other parts of the costume you want to try on, or —" He broke off to dodge the hurled dishrag, laughing.

"Dick." But Bucky was smiling, and he did look pretty good in those red boots.

Steve tossed him the dishcloth and grinned all the way back to bed.

—★—

Christmas! An excellent reason to wire things to light up, and decorate everything in red and gold. Christmas was Tony Stark's _favorite_ holiday.

Well, it was now, because this year they were doing the big team-family thing. There was a huge tree with gifts piled underneath, and stockings hung over the fireplace with care (for a given value of "fireplace," anyway), and there was going to be the big traditional dinner and everything. It was going to be great.

Tony had even gone to great lengths to personally select ugly Christmas sweaters for everyone, and have them delivered in time for the big day. He'd found ugly Hanukkah sweaters for Wanda and Pietro, too. Wanda hadn't tried to magically disembowel him, which meant she liked them, right? 

Anyway, Tony was ready for the festivities Christmas morning, and dressed for the occasion in his reindeer sweater. It lit up. It was hideous. Pepper was sitting all the way on the other side of the room with her coffee, coincidentally out of direct line of sight, talking to Rhodey and Sam while they waited for everyone else to arrive. None of them, Tony noted, were wearing the sweaters he'd sent them. 

Grinches.

Gradually team members trickled in. Clint wore pajamas and seemed barely awake; Natasha looked elegant in a silk dressing gown. Darcy, Jane and Thor all arrived dressed in their ugly sweaters, although Thor managed to make even that look good. It wasn't fair. Bruce came in wearing his normal clothes, as did the Maximoff twins, although Wanda did make a concession to the holiday by wearing something red for a change.

Finally, Steve and Bucky showed up. Steve filled out his ugly sweater quite nicely, Tony had to admit. It had snowmen on it, which never failed to make Tony giggle internally. Steve was pretty much steering Bucky, who looked to be actually asleep and was swathed in a whole comforter. His hair stuck up all over the place. It was cute, like a kitten. A... murderous cyborg kitten? Tony made a mental note to look into veterinary prosthetics.

"Okay! Everybody here? Good!" Tony began distributing bulging stockings to everyone around the tree, and soon gifts were being passed, the wrapping paper began to fly, and the room was filled with a babble of happy people all talking over one another. Tony stood back to admire the view — his family.

A little ways away, Tony noticed, Steve and Bucky were doing something similar. Steve had his arm around Bucky's shoulders, and as Tony watched Steve turned his head to press a gentle kiss to Bucky's temple. 

Bucky responded with a soft snore.

Steve responded to _that_ with a quick jab in the ribs.

"What?!" Bucky yelped, and dropped his blanket.

Steve smiled beatifically at him. "Merry Christmas, Buck."

"Yeah, you too," Bucky muttered, eyes already closing again. Until, Tony saw, Bucky registered exactly what it was Steve was wearing. Bucky's eyes widened — in admiration, Tony was pretty sure — and then narrowed for a brief second before falling once more to drowsily half-lidded. "Mmm. You're warm," Bucky murmured, and turned toward Steve to burrow into his heat.

Steve opened his arms to receive him, and Bucky slid his hands around Steve's waist _under_ the sweater. Steve smiled, Tony frowned, and the next moment Bucky had somehow maneuvered his _head_ under the sweater, too.

"What —? No, Buck, you'll tear it —"

Bucky gave another wriggle. The snowmen writhed and distorted like some nightmare holiday version of _Alien_. Around the room, conversations died down as everyone turned to look.

_Rrrriiiiii-iiiiiiiiii-iiii-ipp._

Pieces of sweater fluttered to the ground like snowflakes. A few strands of yarn got caught in Bucky's hair and between the plates of his arm. Tattered remains of sleeves hung off a now shirtless Steve Rogers, looking like some kind of festive exotic dancer. Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve and smiled sleepily up at him from only inches away.

"Merry Christmas, Steve."

Everyone sat frozen for a moment.

Finally Darcy leaned out from around Jane to get a better view. It _was_ worth looking at, Tony wasn't ashamed to admit. Darcy retrieved her coffee cup from under the gift-wrap debris, raised it high.

"Thor bless us, every one!"

Thor smiled and nodded, only slightly bemused, and raised his own glass in acknowledgment. Soon all the others were finding drinks to raise, mugs of coffee or hot cocoa or steaming tea, looking around and smiling at the others gathered there. Steve had retrieved Bucky's blanket and wrapped it around both of them, and Bucky had somehow acquired a mug for them to share.

It was a nice moment.

Then Clint shot a nerf dart into Wanda's tea, and Pietro dumped ice cubes into Clint's cocoa, and Natasha stuck a bow on Bruce's head, and Sam and Rhodey started a wrapping paper-ball fight, and...

 _That_ was more like it.

.

**Author's Note:**

> No clothes were harmed in the making of this fic. Mostly that's because I didn't _have_ an ugly Christmas sweater to tear up for research purposes, though.
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://z-delenda-est.tumblr.com), if you want!


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